


an ocean not to break

by neutrophilic



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, Gen, Time of the Trees, made up elven holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutrophilic/pseuds/neutrophilic
Summary: The Rite of Remembrance was not one of the better holidays, no matter what her father said about it, so Galadriel didn't know why they couldn't celebrate it back in Tirion. In Tirion, they ate mostly honey and all manner of other sweet things to commemorate the joy they all took in the memories of those Elves that did not make it to Valinor. In Tirion, her Noldor cousins only had to eat one mouthful of acrid herbs to express their sorrow that not all Elves lost in the long journey had heeded the call of Mandos. In Tirion, the singing was over in only a few hours.Or Galadriel as a child has a terrible, no good, very bad Rite of Remembrance.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	an ocean not to break

**Author's Note:**

> To all the people that finally compelled me to read the Silmarillion about a year ago. Maybe one day I'll finish another one of my WIPs!
> 
> Title's from the National's Terrible Love because it was required of me.

The Rite of Remembrance was not one of the better holidays, no matter what her father said about it, so Galadriel didn't know why they couldn't celebrate it back in Tirion. In Tirion, they ate mostly honey and all manner of other sweet things to commemorate the joy they all took in the memories of those Elves that did not make it to Valinor. In Tirion, her Noldor cousins only had to eat one mouthful of acrid herbs to express their sorrow that not all Elves lost in the long journey had heeded the call of Mandos. In Tirion, the singing was over in only a few hours.

But in Alqualondë, they had to fast the whole day, and there were no sweet cakes fragrant with honey at the break fast meal, only roasted fish prepared with horseradish and parsley. In Alqualondë, they had to stand barefoot on the ceremonial beach all day singing solemn songs of mourning. In Alqualondë, all of the adults had to swallow one mouthful of seawater to symbolize taking the sadness of all of the lost Teleri—waiting endlessly for Elwë to return—into their own body. Galadriel liked the beach and she liked fish and she liked singing very much, but she did not like having to stay still for so long while all the adults wept. She would much rather have sweet cakes, and she knew that all of her brothers agreed with her. Even Finrod, who had told her she’d come to see the beauty in these rituals with time.

Still, Galadriel was resolved to act like the adults this year, despite how dull it all was. She felt she was more than old enough to participate in full, but her parents didn't agree. They had brought her food to eat when she got hungry, and her mother had instructed her that under no circumstances was she to drink any of the saltwater. At midday, when her father had given her prepared lunch wrapped in linen and sent her away with it, Galadriel had dutifully taken it. And then, she’d immediately discreetly hidden it in the massive collection of shoes discarded at the side of the beach, committed to her plan to fast the whole very long day. For the rest of the ritual forbidden to her, all she needed to do was to sneak away far enough down the beach so nobody could see what she was doing.

After wandering along the shoreline for what felt like forever, her stomach growling an accompaniment to the wailing of the adults and the sounds of the waves crashing into the shore, Galadriel finally found a place remote enough for her purposes. A spur of land, encrusted with rocks, jutted into the sea and enclosed a small, deserted cove. Galadriel could no longer see the throng of Elves, nor could she clearly hear their singing.

Carefully, Galadriel knotted her dress up around her knees. This dress was blue and green mixed together so that it looked like the sea under Laurelin’s undiluted light and had small jewels embroidered into collar that shimmered pleasingly. Best of all, the skirt floated up so gracefully if she twirled around and around. It was the very best thing that she owned. Aredhel had said she wasn’t jealous even a little bit and that she only wanted to wear white when Galadriel had shown her the dress during their last playdate. Galadriel thought she was lying.

With due care, Galadriel waded into the sea. The waves rushed up to meet up and splashed her calves with shockingly cold water. Galadriel put both hands out to balance. Some of the stones under her feet were sharp and some of them were slippery, and it took great concentration not to fall over on their uneven surface.

Right as Galadriel bent down to try to scoop up some of the water between her hands, she heard her brother’s loud, clear voice.

“There you are!" Finrod cried, running towards her.

Startled, Galadriel fell forward into the sea. She cut the palm of her right hand open on a broken shell, and her dress got wet. Without really meaning to, she started to cry.

When Finrod scooped her up, Galadriel could see through her tears that the whole crowd of celebrants must have come looking for her. Many of them were arrayed on the cliffs and had an excellent view of her brother treating her just like a baby. She would have been absolutely fine if Finrod hadn’t come along to scare her so.

“Mother and father were so worried,” he said. “There are so many rip currents around this beach. As we searched, we prayed that Ulmo wouldn’t take you from us on a day like today.”

Galadriel sniffed and tried to get a grip on herself as he brought her back to shore. The watching Teleri had begun to sing one of the more joyful traditional songs of this holiday. It was still a dirge, just a dirge in a major key.

“You’re bleeding!” Finrod exclaimed, and, before Galadriel could react, he sat her down on a larger, dry boulder and tore the hem of her dress right off. 

Sobbing incoherently—her dress! her beautiful dress!—Galadriel tried to tug her hand away as he set to bandaging it, but he held her firmly, humming a healing melody as he went.

It was at that precise moment that Galadriel decided that the Rite of Remembrance was the absolute worst holiday. Her family reciting the story of brave Finrod snatching her out of harm’s way in the nick of time every single Rite of Remembrance from then on out did not improve her opinion even slightly. It took years and years and years for her distaste to fade to the point where she missed it. But, by then, all of her brothers were long dead. All of their bodies held by the very ocean she so longed to sail across and join her family for one last retelling of this old tale.


End file.
